Scattered
by Directionless Angel
Summary: The universe is but a scattered collection of moments... Moments that transcend space and time.
1. Controlled

Light pours in through their eyelids. They moan softly as they open them, only having to scrunch up their face a moment later. Too bright. It takes them a second or two to adjust before they can properly see around them, pupils shrunk into their proper state.

The fallen child weakly pushes themselves up with their arms. Their body aches, and the bandage on their head feels gross and moist. They hope they're not bleeding again.

As they raise a hand to their head to inspect the damage, they see they're sitting on a bed of yellow flowers. They look beautiful, and have a distinct smell. It's not terrible. They look up and see they're in a cave, a stick lying on the ground next to them.

How did they end up here...? Their head is fuzzy...

They keep sliding their gaze up until they can see where the little light is coming from. A hole high up in the ceiling... D-did they fall all the way from there?! They should be dead! They should be...

The child grabs the stick and climbs on their shaking legs, then throws a few concerned looks around. Then they slow, a second at a time... And stop. _Right_. They should be dead.

Their lip trembles.

And that's when they feel a tug inside them. They want to gasp, but find themselves unable. What is that feeling? Why can't they move?

And then they do move. Their feet move without permission, despite aching. They circle the flowers once, then come to a stop. They kneel down next to them, without their input. How? Why?! They would panic if they were able. They'd be gasping for breath without fail.

 _It's a bed of golden flowers. They must've broken your fall._

?! Whose voice is that?! Who is talking into their ear? And why does the voice sound so similar to their own...

Before they can even think about it, they're walking again. Something inside them is tugging them forward, and they're unable to resist. It's leading them deeper into the cave, into darkness. Frisk is terrified.

.

It's like drowning, drowning in mute shadows. Everything is a blur. Then, all of a sudden, it isn't. It all comes to a stop when they're pulled into an awakening.

 _What's going on? Where am I? What happened? We... We failed, didn't we...? How am I..._

They look down at their hands. They're there, but... Aren't. They stand beside someone who looks an awful lot like them. They stand on some... Very familiar flowers. It doesn't look like the blue-shirted kid can see them.

But what drags their gaze over is, beyond that kid... There's someone else in the room. A blurred figure whose face Chara can't make out. But they feel so very familiar, too.

They drop their gaze back to the kid. It's like they're in a daze, their skin golden like the flowers at their feet. They walk around, but it feels like it's not them. Chara feels a strange connection, one between all three in this room. _Oh_. The blurry figure is controlling this body. Doesn't look like they can see Chara, either.

The kid stops to look at the flowers, knelt by them. Chara frowns, then glances up at the ceiling and back down to the ground. The kid must've fallen in.

"It's a bed of golden flowers... They must've broken your fall," they tell the kid in slight exasperation. And then, they think they feel something – or, or see them flinch?

Did... Did the kid hear Chara just now? Did the blurry figure?

Suddenly, both of them are taking their leave. Chara only feels a pull, an inclanation to follow. They're attracted to something within that kid... They wonder what it is. So, they decide to stay near.


	2. Promise

The kid makes their way through the snow of the forest. The promise rings inside his head, the promise he'd made Toriel. Don't hurt them. _Protect them._

This time anomaly is someone who has once ruined everything, and will do it again, if given the chance. As Sans closes the distance between them, his steps slow and echoing through the cave, he argues with himself whether he should hold onto his promise.

Their back is still turned to him, even as he's so close. He wants to attack them with a barrage of questions, he wants to punch them, he wants to...

He just wants to see their smile. It's been so long.

 **"Human."**

And they're already turning around, doing exactly what he'd hoped for. They're smiling. They look so happy, even as he pranks them with a whoopee cushion.

And yet, this is not... Them. This person doesn't remember. And his soul feels hollow.

 _Kid... I didn't forget._

 _But you did._


	3. Chosen

He sits and he sits. Despite all the chores he does, sometimes it starts feeling like sitting is all it amounts to.

It's only for a little while that he wonders about his purpose before he crosses paths with someone. And like he has done with so many others, that someone changes Ralsei.

"Who are you?" he initially asks upon meeting this person. He grins in response.

"I **A** M B **UT** A H **UM** BL **E** MES **SE** NG **ER**..." he says, voice wavy as if it's threatening to be pulled away from existence, " **AN** D I **A** M **H** E **RE** TO T **ELL** YO **U SO** ME **THI** NG VE **RY**... V **E** RY I **MP** OR **T** AN **T**."

From that day onward, Ralsei's future has become more certain. He's driven by an urgency and one goal in mind.

He awaits the day anxiously. The day that is going to be crucial for the entirety of the rest of his story – for everyone's story.

When Ralsei finally meets Kris and Susie, he has to fight through the lump in his throat to speak. The future of the entire universe rests on his shoulders.

He has to get it right.


	4. Ticks

For someone who's never been depressed, the concept of such a thing can be difficult to understand.

If one hasn't been depressed, it's likely they're planning a future for themselves. They face each day with the knowledge that they'll gladly carry onto the next, falling into a comfortable routine. Time moves forward at a reasonable pace, even if they're not continuously happy.

For someone who is depressed the world looks and feels like a parallel reality in comparison. Someone who is depressed may never understand how a content person carries on every day.

A depressed person can lie in bed, not feeling the passage of time at all even while the clock ticks. They're at a standstill, a stage where every day is just an extension of an infinite blur. Even after sleeping it doesn't feel like that daily counter has reset, rather, it's just one crappy day continuing on for eternity.

Papyrus knows what depression looks like. He knows he's supposed to be extremely alarmed by the state of his brother's room, by his lack of motivation. And he does push the other to do tasks all the time, tasks that he can't comprehend why they're so impossible to complete.

He doesn't understand how it takes so long for Sans to realize how bad things have gotten, because to him, time is moving normally. He doesn't realize that Sans doesn't hear those artificial ticks of the clock like he does.

He can't understand what Sans is waiting for.

Smiles, jokes and a carefree attitude is everything his brother ever shows without prompting. He shoulders as little responsibility as possible. And Papyrus used to be angry at him for this – still is sometimes – but now he ever so often pauses to wonder what's behind all that neglect.

How can he, who's never been depressed, understand how it feels? And most importantly, how can he help?

For the time being, he simply settles on the first. But he hears the ticks, and he worries.


	5. Continue

There's an undeniable pattern to existence. Happiness, sadness, hate, love, hope, bitterness, anger, satisfaction, irritation, contentment... Our experience is limited, but colorful. That is, until it isn't.

Kris shivers on their bed, arms wrapped around themselves as they keep their gaze fixed on the floor. Their room is dim and dull, curtains closed, the shelves on their side as empty and yet worn as ever. The sheets are a shade lacking personality.

They refuse to look up and see their brother's cheerful memory waiting just a few strides away. The trophies, the games, every little object he's left behind that reminds Kris of the time they've spent together. As Kris remains still, out of the array of different emotions, they're enveloped and gripped by utter loneliness.

Some kind of muffled sound enters their ears somewhere far away... And it takes them several beats to realize that that muffled sound is a steady knock on their door. It takes just as many beats to force words through that blurry barrier between them and existence.

"Coming, mom," they rasp out easier than they expect, their voice nearly startling them. It's almost as if they've forgotten they can speak. They swallow at the realization, the blur starting to dissolve and give way to everything they're trying their best not to feel.

" _I'll be waiting for you outside, Kris!"_ calls Toriel's voice from the other side of the door. It doesn't sound quite as distant now, but her heavy footsteps do the farther she gets from her childrens' room.

Kris is immobile for moments after, but eventually finds themselves swallowing again. This time its because their throat suddenly feels tight and there's a burning in their eyes. They can feel tears building as reality sinks its harsh claws into them. Time is moving forward and they have to face the day, whether they want to or not, it seems...

It takes some mental preparation, several commands to themselves to actually get themselves to shuffle off the bed. Eventually they do, thought, and their legs feel so weak as they stand on the purple carpet. It takes them by surprise all over again when they find they can walk normally.

Kris knows they're making their mother wait, but they still don't go straight over to the door. No, they can't go through their day feeling like this, feigning all the positive emotions they haven't felt in a long time.

So, instead, they step in front of that rusted old birdcage and take a deep breath. They raise their right hand, then their chin. Their eyes are shut, brows knit in concentration and an inkling of fear. But they've done this before. They've done this before, and it's fine. Everything will be fine...

Weakly reassured, the next moment, they strike their raised hand straight into the center of their ribcage. And, swallowing a scream, they pull out a pulsing soul from where it's contained.

Heaving a select few breaths, they calm their rapid heartbeat. They refuse to look at the very culmination of their being as they squeeze it in their hand. They just need to get this over with.

Kris kneels by the cage, eyes fixed on the floor once more as they reluctantly part from their core. They gently place it inside the little cage, then open their palm and swiftly pull the hand out. Only a moment later, they close the gate door, stand and stumble back, arms protectively crossed in front of them.

There. That's better. They already feel much more distant, much... Much more... No, they... They feel _less_ , not more. They feel barely anything at all. And that's good.

Kris lifts their chin just enough to gaze at the little green heart. They're stronger without it. They can face the day like this.

Without another word, without anymore hesitation, they turn to the door and leave.


End file.
